The Red Gloves Collection (14 page)

He stood and turned around, using the back of the bench to stretch his legs behind him one at a time, loosening his arches and calves for the run home. No reason to stay another moment. The bench was nothing but a tombstone now. A tombstone marking Amy’s easy grin, and a baby boy’s unheard cry, and every other good thing about life and living, all of which had died on the operating table right alongside Amy and their infant son.

CHAPTER THREE

M
egan had caught glimpses of the man ever since she and Jordan arrived.

The park had been Jordan’s idea, the least she could do after reading his letter to God. She couldn’t take the place of a father, but she loved the boy, and the letter had done nothing but underline the fact. Jordan needed more time with her, and now she would do whatever she could to be there for him. If that meant giving up a Saturday at the office, she would find another way to get the work done.

She’d been pushing Jordan on the swing, laughing at something he’d said, when the man jogged up, cooled down a bit, and sat on a bench at the far back near the big slide. Megan met his eyes only briefly as he walked past, but immediately she knew something was wrong. Megan was an attorney, after all. She could read body language and facial expressions as easily as she could read a court paper.

And she was an expert at reading eyes.

The man’s were haunting, filled with the kind of private pain you saw in theater seats and restaurants and office places, a pain that was commonplace in New York City. At least in the last two years. For a moment, Megan wondered about the man’s story. He looked nice enough, and the way he held himself stirred something vaguely familiar in her. For a moment she wondered. Had he lost a parent or a child? A lover, maybe. Or was he merely struggling with a rough workweek?

Ten minutes passed, and Megan considered the solitary man. Maybe she should go to him, find out why he was here and what made his eyes look that way. Maybe he wanted to talk. Megan turned her attention to Jordan and the idea passed. Crazy thoughts like that didn’t flit across her mind very often. The man was obviously sitting alone for a reason, and Megan wasn’t about to interrupt him.

“Time me, Mom.” Jordan waved at her. His eyes danced as they hadn’t in months, and Megan felt a ripple of hope. Everything would be all right. She could do this—this playtime thing. And eventually, Jordan would see that he didn’t need a father, not with how much she loved him.

“Time you?” She looked at her watch. “For what?”

“See how long it takes me to run around the swings, climb the ladder, and drop down the slide, okay?”

“Okay.” Megan did a salute in Jordan’s direction. “Whenever you’re ready.”

For the longest time, the two of them played the game, and when Jordan was finally too tired to make another go at it, Megan noticed that the man was gone. Gone home to whatever family waited for him, whatever it was that caused his eyes so much sorrow.

Jordan jumped off the slide and jogged over to her. “Ready?”

“Yep.” Megan pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and rose to her feet. “Ready if you are.”

He walked alongside her and yawned. “That was way fun.”

“Way
fun?”

“Come on, Mom … ” Jordan grinned at her. “You know, like really,
really
fun.”

“Oh … ” Megan tilted her head back and shot him a teasing look. “All right, then I
way
liked being with you today.”

“Yeah … ” The silliness faded from Jordan’s eyes, and he gave her the type of adoring smile she hadn’t seen for years. “Me, too.”

See,
Jordan,
she wanted to say.
You don’t need a dad.
“Wanna get lunch?”

“Don’t you have to work?” Jordan stopped walking and turned to her. His mouth was open.

“Nope.” She tickled him in the ribs. “I’m yours all day.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Jordan jumped and raised his fist in the air the way he did when his favorite football team scored a touchdown. “Yes!”

Megan laughed, and the sound of it stuck in her heart. Like a favorite song she hadn’t heard in far too long. She lowered her chin and grinned at Jordan. “Does that mean pizza or hot dogs?”

“Hot dogs near the Conservatory. Definitely.” They started walking again, and this time Jordan tucked his hand in hers. “Hey, Mom … ”

“Yes.” Megan ran her thumb along the side of Jordan’s hand and realized something. She’d told Jordan the truth. Spending the day with him had been wonderful and refreshing, the perfect break after a long week.

“You look pretty today.”

Megan angled her head and gave a single nod in Jordan’s direction. “Why, thank you, kind sir.” She ran her fingers through her short dark hair. “Must be my new haircut.”

“No … ” Jordan shook his head. “It’s the jeans. Mommies look nice in jeans.”

T
he conversation veered from jeans to the zoo animals at the far end of the park to the open house at school the coming week to the one thing Megan had desperately hoped he wouldn’t talk about.

The God letter.

It happened when they were twenty yards from the hot-dog vendor. Jordan let go of her hand and pivoted to a standstill. “Mom!” Concern flashed in his eyes. “You mailed my letter, right?”

Megan’s heart skipped a beat. “Letter?”

Jordan knit his eyebrows together. “The one I put inside your purse. Yesterday, before school?”

“Oh, that.” Megan urged herself to smile. “Of course I mailed it.” She started walking again and he fell in beside her. “I already told you that.”

“When did you?”

It took all of Megan’s effort to spit out the lie. “Just after lunch.” She kept her eyes straight ahead, moving along as though nothing were wrong.

“But you found the address?”

Megan felt two inches high. “Yes, Jordan.” She pointed at the vendor. “How ‘bout hot dogs and chips?”

Jordan skipped a bit in front of her and tossed a smile over his shoulder. “I knew you’d know the address for God, you know why?”

Megan ordered herself to look relaxed. “Why?”

“Because you know everything, Mom. Even God’s address.” He glanced ahead at the vendor. “Hot dogs are perfect.”

They were in line when Megan found her voice again. “Uh … Jordan … about the letter … ”

“Yeah?”

“What … what exactly did you tell God?”

Jordan lifted his shoulders twice. “I just sort of asked Him something.” He squinted his eyes and looked toward the sky. The clouds had burned off, and blue patches were showing above them. “It’s a secret. Between me and God.”

Megan could kick herself for pushing the issue, but she’d hoped he might tell her what it held. That way she could break the news to him gently—that God wouldn’t be hand-delivering a daddy anytime soon. But if Jordan wouldn’t tell her what the letter said, she could hardly let on that she knew.

They moved up a bit in line, and Jordan looked at her once more. “Mom … are you ever gonna get married again?”

The question shot darts at Megan’s soul. “No.” Her answer was quick and pointed. “Not ever.”

Jordan let his gaze fall to his feet, and he kicked up a bit of loose gravel. When he looked up again, his eyes were flatter than before. “How come?”

A sigh filtered through Megan’s tight throat. “Because … ” She took Jordan’s hands in hers and faced him, ignoring the people in line on either side of them. “I’ll never find anyone who loves me as much as you do, buddy. Okay?”

“You still believe in love, though, right?”

Megan felt his words like so many rocks. “Of course.” She squeezed Jordan’s hands and managed a curious smile. “Why would you ask?”

“Because one time—” Jordan hesitated. “One time I heard you tell Grandma that you didn’t believe in love anymore.”

“Well … ” They were next in line, and Megan couldn’t let her surprise show. She would have to be more careful about what she said around the apartment. “Sometimes I get sad about Daddy being gone, and I feel that way. But not most of the time, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiled at her, but the spark from earlier was gone.

They bought their hot dogs, and for the rest of the afternoon Megan grieved the fact that Jordan had heard her say such a thing about love. Worse, she grieved that what she had said was true. She didn’t believe in love, not for a minute. How far had she come since that long-ago summer when—in the midst of the worst days of her life—she’d been given the gift of hope by a boy she hadn’t seen before or since?

And that night as she drifted off to sleep, she didn’t think about court cases or Jordan’s loneliness or how a person could wake up one morning with neck pain and be dead of a coronary by noon. Rather, she allowed twenty-year-old memories to surface like seaweed, memories she’d buried long ago. And as she did, she felt herself drift back in time, back to a Lake Tahoe beach, and a boy named Kade, and a kind of love that lasted forever.

A kind of love she no longer believed in.

CHAPTER FOUR

O
nce Megan allowed the memories, they came like old friends and took her back to a place when she was barely more than a child.

She and her younger brother had lived a life that seemed idyllic to everyone, especially Megan. They had a home with a swimming pool in West Palm Beach, and every summer they took family vacations. After work her father would come in from the garage, drop his keys in the apple jar by the telephone, and clap his hands. “Where’s the best kids in the world?” he’d ask.

When she was a little girl, Megan would wait for him by the front window and at the sound of his voice she would run and jump into his arms. Her father wasn’t very tall, but to her he was strong and bigger than life. Once when Megan was six years old, her father had been teach her how to ride a bike at Farlane Park. He jogged alongside her, and when she grazed a tree and began to fall, he caught her by the waist and kept her from hitting the ground.

Caught her in midair.

It was something Megan never forgot. When she was older, her brother did the running and jumping, and Megan would call from the next room, “Hey, Dad, how was your day?”

And every evening he’d find her and kiss the top of her head.

When he was home, that was.

Now she knew that her parents had often been fighting, arguing over whether her dad was sleeping with other women or stepping out secretly without her mother knowing it. But Megan and her brother had no idea.

Not until the day their father walked out.

She could still hear her parents’ voices, the way they sounded that awful day. Hear them as clearly as if they were standing beside her bed. At first Megan hadn’t believed the loud noises could be coming from her parents. She figured her father must’ve been watching something on television. Her brother was only seven that spring, and he played in his room, unaware that the story of their lives was being rewritten in the kitchen below.

Megan had gone to the top of the stairs and listened. That’s when she realized the loud, angry words weren’t coming from the TV at all, but from her parents. Her parents, who never yelled at each other. Megan had felt the blood drain from her face. She sat down, hugged her knees to her chest, and concentrated on what they were saying.

“Walk out now, and don’t bother coming back!” The words had belonged to her mother, and they terrified Megan.
Walk out? What was that supposed to mean?
Daddy had just come home from work, and they hadn’t eaten dinner yet. He would never have gone back out now.

“I didn’t want it like this.” Her father’s voice hadn’t been as loud, but it was filled with fury. “You’re the one who made the phone call.”

“Of course I made the call.” Her mother’s tone rose a notch. “I find a receipt for roses in your coat pocket? When you haven’t given me flowers in five years? The phone call was a natural, Paul. The florist was more than willing to give me your girlfriend’s name, so blame him.”

“Okay, I’ve got a girlfriend. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“No, Paul, what’re
you
going to do?” Her mother sounded half crazy, desperate.

“Nothing.” The word was an explosion in the kitchen below. “There’s nothing I can do now.”

“Yes, you can! You can tell her it’s over, tell her we’re going to get counseling and try to work things out. Tell her you have a family.”

“No, Terri.
You
have a family. I have a job and a mortgage and bills to pay. The kids barely know me.”

Megan gripped the staircase and closed her eyes. Her head spun and she felt sick to her stomach. What was her father talking about? Of course they knew him. Whenever he was home they read books together and went for walks and …

That’s when she’d realized something. Her father hadn’t been home much since Christmas, really. Once in a while she’d heard her mother comment about the fact, but never with so much shouting. Megan hadn’t thought anything of his absences. Her father was a banker, a busy man, and sometimes his work kept him out late. That was all it was. Right?

Her mother began to weep, a loud, wailing cry Megan had never heard before. “Forget the girl, Paul. I can if you can.” She was shrieking, panicking, and the sound of her voice made Megan’s heart race. “Don’t leave us now, please, Paul. Think about the kids!”

That’s when the shouting and crying and angry words had suddenly stopped. Her father’s voice was calm once again, and he said only two words, the last words Megan ever heard him say.

“Good-bye, Terri.”

That was it. Nothing about even hearing her mother’s plea or possibly breaking up with the girlfriend, whoever she was. No final words of love passed on to the kids, no words of concern for Megan and her brother. Just “Good-bye, Terri.”

Megan had held her breath as she peered down into the foyer and watched her father leave. She could still see him, the way he stood by the door with a single suitcase in one hand, a briefcase in the other, dressed in his business clothes. He gave one last look around the living room, then he turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

At first Megan had figured it was some kind of bad joke, or maybe even an awful nightmare. A girl in Megan’s third-grade class had a father who left them on New Year’s Day, and a few years later Sheila Wagner’s mother ran off with the assistant principal.